Little did he dream of the strange circumstances under which he was to meet this man again, or of what that encounter was to bring forth.
[CHAPTER II—AT THE LUMBER CAMP]
Leaving the village behind him, Andy struck out bravely for the Storburgh lumber camp, three miles up the river. The thermometer was low but there was no wind, and he did not mind the cold, for he had plenty of good red blood in his veins. All he was worried about was the question of getting work. He knew that he must have money, and that it could not very well be obtained without employment.
“If I were a fellow in a fairy story book I might find a bag of gold,” he mused. “But as I’m only a Yankee lad, I guess I’ll have to hustle around for all I get. Even if I went hunting and brought down a deer or two, or a moose, that wouldn’t bring in enough. If I were a regular guide I might get a job with that gentleman in the cutter. He looked as if he had money to spend. He must be a stranger in these parts, or he wouldn’t ask about the road to Moose Ridge.”
It was nearly noon when Andy came in sight of the lumber camp. From a distance he heard the ringing sounds of the axes, and the shouts of the men to “stand from under” as a mighty monarch of the forest was about to fall. Skirting the “yard,” he approached the building which was known as the office.
“Is Mr. Storburgh around?” he asked, of the young man in charge.
“He is not,” was the reply, and the clerk scarcely looked up from the sheet upon which he was figuring.
“When will he be here?”
“I don’t know—he’s gone to New York.”
“Do you know if he has an opening for a chopper, or on the teams?”